Love, Reign O'er Me
by virtualailee
Summary: Bad things happen in this line of job. Wanda showed the Avengers their deepest fears, and everybody had to cope somehow. Tony tried. And only Steve noticed he was falling apart.
_\- You could have saved us -_

The other side of the bed – the one occupied by one Tony Stark – was quaking at Richter 5. Steve tucked the hem of his (their) blanket closer to his chest and ignored the creaks. But on and on it went, testing the limit of his patience that he briefly wondered if Tony was doing it on purpose to spite him. Before he could stick his fingers into his ears, he caught hisses like "I'm sorry" and "Please don't – I'm trying!" One too many toss and turn later, Steve rolled over and saw the way Tony twist in his sleep. Very cautiously he reached out for the shoulders.

 _\- Why didn't you do more –_

A loud gasp erupted between Tony's lips and he popped upwards like a Jack-in-a-box. By the next second Tony was already charging headfirst into the attached bathroom. He retched once, twice, and drowned subsequent ones with the gush of water from the tap.

It'd been a really long day. Steve wanted nothing more than to hit the sack so hard stuffing spill out of it. Then he heard a flush and what he imagined a swirling of stomach content down the pipes, yet Tony did not return. Trepidation quickly replacing exhaustion, he peeled the blanket from his lap and edged towards the floor. And there Tony stood, half sagging against the door frame.

He didn't seem to notice Steve at first, still reeling at the ghosts that'd lingered in the back of his thoughts. But all of a sudden he looked up and realised Steve was watching him.

Steve cleared his throat. "You OK?"

He nodded dismissively and raked a hand through his already tussled hair. With a quick "Getting something to drink" he was gone.

Steve actually sunk back into his pillows, so soft they were beckoning him once more to sleep. The day had been long and boy, did they all deserve their beauty sleeps. Barton's home was especially welcoming. Perfect - just the one he longed for like a lifetime ago. He thought, maybe after all the fighting he'd retire someday, buy a plot of land, build a house like this and raise a family in it. Steve threw an arm over to the space that'd just been vacated by Tony. Bruce and Natasha were having the children's beds – they in turn bunked in with Clint and Laura – and that left Steve and Tony with the guest room. When Clint casually suggested "Double up!" everybody was expecting some violent objection from born-with-a-silver-spoon Mr Stark. Because the mere suggestion of him sharing bed space with Captain America? But the billionaire thanked Laura with a genuine smile and scooped his towel and fresh change of clothes without a fuss. Let's say after the Chitauri incident Steve didn't think anything could awe the Avengers anymore.

Despite having the super soldier serum coursing through his veins, even he was feeling the fatigue in his bones. He looked forlornly at the door again – Tony didn't close it, too used to all the automated entrances and exits at the Tower – and sat up. The clock hanging by the wardrobe said it'd been 15 minutes since Tony'd left for his drink, and Steve felt that surge of unrest clawing at his chest again.

He crept along the length of the hallway, barefooted, silent as a cat. The kitchen was not lit. Steve hurried his pace. As he was about to take the turn, he saw a sliver of Tony's profile in a corner. His expression was drawn, hidden in shadows as he squatted by the fridge.

After the chaos that was the Witch's doing, they clambered back into the Quinjet in various states of mental health. "Pretty shaken up" was an understatement. Steve had perfected the art of internalising emotions, so he kept up his game face and made himself available in case anyone needed the support. Natasha and Bruce had each other, and if anyone could walk away from a mind-screw without crutches it would be Thor. Tony though, Tony busied himself with what he knew best – his technology and science. And that was that. End of story.

Tony stood up and leaned heavily against the kitchen sink. Steve kept his eyes trained on the hunched posture of the billionaire, watched him grab a clean glass and filled it to the brim with water.

Bad things happen all the time in this line of work. Steve wasn't going to mollycoddle his teammates every time shit hits the fan.

After rinsing and replacing his glass at the drying rack, Tony exited the kitchen. Apparently going back to sleep wasn't his intention because he ventured instead to the porch. Steve heard fortifications being lifted – a wooden shoe rack, a dining chair, padlocks and the metal chains they were attached to – and the turn of the doorknob.

If he wanted to leave, like Thor, then by all means. Imagine Steve's surprise when he grabbed one of the kid's baseball bats and just stood by the steps.

Tony intended to take up night guard duty.

Steve heaved a sigh. He should really go back to the bedroom, yet he found himself following in Tony's footsteps. Just short of joining the other outside, he resigned to settling in one of the straight-backed sofa in the hall.

He never thought he'd ask himself this: what on earth could frighten Tony Stark to the brink of sleepless nights?

To be frank, despite all the back and forth between them, Tony remained a resolute enigma. Everything he'd heard of the man was from second hand sources, most of which were unsavoury. He put the italic and underline in the genius-billionaire-playboy-billionaire tag – everything Steve found in bad taste. He heard of the story behind the arc reactor and that did stun him a bit, and he inwardly commended the courage and wit of an untrained civilian facing inconceivable horrors. Not so long later, he was told – in passing, no less – about a fake Mandarin, PTSDs and a major heart surgery.

When Tony showed up for Avengers duty without the light in his chest, Steve clapped him once in the back. Then it was all back to business.

Until tonight. Now.

From where Steve was sitting, he could still see Tony through the wall where the window sill was slightly cracked. Left to his own company, the raw lines of sorrow and regret were displayed barefacedly in his visage, hauntingly so that Steve's couldn't find it in him to stoke his infuriation at the Ultron fiasco.

What indeed, did the Witch make him see?

His reverie was broken by the gentle pitter patter of rain which very quickly matured into a torrent. There were hastened movements, footsteps – and Tony was running.

Steve jumped to his feet and pulled the door so harshly the hinge almost come off.

The porch was unmanned.

"Tony!"

Steve ran out into the open, the rain falling on him like bullets. He wiped water out of his face and visually swept the compound for presences.

"Tony! Where are you?"

Then the sky blazed with a strike of the lightning. The tail of his eye caught a flash of shadow, and a handkerchief blew past him. He took off. With both feet entrenched in the mud and grass, and the wind clapped his face mercilessly, he searched the area till he found Tony, soaked to the bones if going by how his clothes clutch to his body like a second skin. The chill hurt – Steve didn't let it bother him this time – and he made his way staunchly to the other.

"What the hell are you doing!" he screamed over the storm.

Tony cocked his head up. Wordlessly he dumped a pile of wet laundry into Steve's outstretched arms before turning to the clothe line again. He worked on the next row of apparels, unpegging Steve's uniform this time, and Natasha's undergarment, and everything else that he'd hung out to dry that afternoon.

They marched their sodden selves into the kitchen where Steve promptly dumped the laundry onto the floor, not the least worried of Laura's reaction should she wake up to find a puddle of mess in her house. Tony fell to his knees next to the pile and reached for a random article. He wrung it as hard as he could, his white knuckles straining against the force. Steve watched him place the shrivelled clump on the nearest dry spot and pick up another pair of pants.

He could hear Tony's teeth chatter, feel the shiver raking his body yet he continued wringing the clothes with a sense of franticness. And Steve couldn't bear it anymore.

He clasped his hand over Tony's.

"Stop," he urged, "Please stop."

"I… I can't even keep your clothes dry." Tony shuddered under his touch, and Steve tightened his hold. "Just some stupid laundry… can't even… can't even…"

It didn't take Steve much effort to pry Tony away from them – they were already gone to begin with – and ushered him into the shower, and then, bed. Steve comforted himself with the easing of Tony's breath alongside him, and the gentle snores that ensued soon after.

He didn't sleep that night. He stood guard over the barn house.


End file.
